Who You Are
by Tattles
Summary: Lestrade first met Mycroft Holmes while doing paper-work, he didn't know who Mycroft was or what he would become. When a kiss in a country cottage sets events into motion, will their love be fulfilled? Mycroft/Lestrade, JW/SH. Better than it sounds.


**Title:** Who You Are

**Word Count:** Actual 12,078

**Fandom/Pairings:**BBC Sherlock. Lestrade/Mycroft and John/Sherlock.

**Rating:** Rated _M_ to be safe and for swearing, kissing, etc.

**Warnings/Spoilers:** Set after 'A Study in Pink' therefore warnings for possible spoilers for all three episodes of the first season. Warning for slash pairings, male/male, yaoi, gay, etc. Warnings also for my badly written deductions and crimes.

**Summary:**Lestrade first met Mycroft Holmes while doing paper-work, he didn't know who Mycroft was or would become. But after an incident in a country cottage things begin to change as feelings are found and recognised. Mycroft/Lestrade, John/Sherlock.

**A/N: **My friend told me Mycroft and Lestrade wasn't plausible, claiming 'they haven't even met' as her reason (though I think she's come round since then). So here is my reply and my contribution to the Lestrade/Mycroft community, because I say they are plausible. Right so all you Mycroft/Lestrade fans out there rejoice. I spent all my time on this when I should have been studying for my HSC (final high school exam for those who don't know) I think I may have failed a few exams. But oh well I have a lovely fic to show for it.

By the way I've decided that Lestrade's name is Gregory, does anyone know his real name? I know Sir Conan Doyle only ever called him G. Lestrade but does the BBC version call him anything else other than Lestrade? Anyway enjoy my crappy writing; this is my first Sherlock fic by the way so I haven't perfected it yet. Enjoy.

P.s. What is Mycroft/Lestrade be called? LeCroft, Mystrade, Lesoft, Mestrade ?

**OoOoOoO**

Gregory Lestrade was packing up his team after a gruelling night at Roman Ker Further Education College, now the crime scene for a serial killers murder. It was beyond midnight, most of the officers had already left, a few, like Anderson and Donovan remained. The body had been taken to the morgue, evidence collected, and the mess cleaned up. Lestrade was leaning on his car, facing away from the building and the flirting Anderson and Donovan. He was staring off into space when his eyes focused on a black blur unlike the darkness surrounding it. Focusing on the blur, Lestrade could make out a car, an expensive looking one, and a man leaning on an umbrella next to it.

Wondering who the man was, whether a criminal or another official, or whether it was just some curious bystander who happened to be rich. Lestrade was uneasy. The man seemed to be staring at him, his eyes like lasers, drilling holes into Lestrade and leaving him bare.

Lestrade shifts, shooting a glace back to Anderson and Donovan who were engrossed in each other. He glances back the man, he's moved. He's now standing on his own the umbrella merely hanging from his hand, the car's door is now open. As Lestrade watches he beckons him over, gesturing to the car.

Lestrade glances back to Anderson and Donovan, "Alright that's all today. Anderson, Donovan collect anything left behind and get it back to the NSY then go home. See you both in the morning"

'Yes, sir's' answer him. His already turned back towards the man, he seems to be smiling but in the darkness it's hard to tell, he could be frowning, smirking or expressionless, Lestrade likes to think it's a smile.

Lestrade walks away from his car and over to the black one, up close he can see that it's a Mercedes, a newer model and that the man was indeed smiling, though not in a kind way. No his smile was- was- was crafty? Cunning? Frosty? Fake? Whatever it was Lestrade couldn't describe it and it was likely inconsequential.

He'd reached the man and his car now, standing a meter or so from him Lestrade gave him a questioning look followed by one that said 'don't-give-me-shit'.

Smiling a little more genuinely the man once again he gestured to the open car door, "Please Detective Inspector Lestrade, get in the car." His tone brooked no argument. Warily Lestrade got in the car, watching the man all the while, the man hawk eyes watching him, taking everything in, reminding him of Sherlock in a much more sinister way. When they were both seated the car started and they were off to an unknown destination. Lestrade glanced back through the rear window to see his own car being driven away, presumable home like the man had said, though he wouldn't put it past them to steal it or do something else illegal.

The ride was mostly silent, Lestrade's questions when he first entered the car had been left unanswered his companion merely staring ahead or glancing at him as if to say 'all in good time' or 'you dare to ask me _that_'

The darkened windows made it hard for Lestrade to know where they were driving or where they even were, for all he knew they could be on the other side of London or only a few blocks away from the college. The only thing he knew was that they were still in London, they hadn't driven far enough or long enough to have left.

When the car finally pulled to a complete stop the door was opened and the man stepped out, Lestrade glancing around before exiting the vehicle himself. Glancing around Lestrade found himself in warehouse, presumably still in use judging by the crates. Mind you he was no Sherlock Holmes.

Stepping further away from the car and shifting his body front on to the man Lestrade was confronted with a table set for two with a steaming meal on it. The man, who was more easily seen now, was standing behind one of the chairs in an expensive looking suit, umbrella hooked over the chairs back. Lestrade took a cautious step towards the table. "What is this?" He asked, not expecting an answer.

"This, Inspector, is dinner."

Lestrade nodded, suddenly feeling lost and out of his depth. Not knowing what else to do he sat in the other chair, his eyes never leaving the other man as he sat down as well.

"I am Mycroft, Inspector." He was pouring himself a glass of red wine when he spoke, his movements unhindered he spilt not a drop. Without asking he poured another glass for Lestrade before placing the bottle beside the table. Resting his elbows on the table Mycroft steeped his fingers and lent forward suddenly serious, "I have a proposition for you"

Lestrade sputtered and gave a choked but questioning look to this Mycroft, inside he was venomously denying the flare of want that those words incited. Trying to distract himself, Lestrade set his mind to wondering what type of parents named their child Mycroft. The poor boy had likely been bullied – the thought stopped dead, this man had likely never been bullied as a child, he'd likely bossed everyone around.

Mycroft was watching the Inspector intently, his eyes and his expressions giving away all is thoughts, Mycroft wondered if he had a professional mask he used when dealing with the less-savoury peoples of London. No matter, Mycroft was certain he would not be seeing Gregory Lestrade in action, he would leave that to his brother to find out. Although with Sherlock he likely already had a novels worth of information on the Scotland Yard police officers, valuable information to the criminal world but information that would likely never leave Sherlock's brain.

"Hmm, you seem to have taken it the wrong way. Inspector, you are relatively close to a one Sherlock Holmes, correct?" Mycroft took a bite of the meal before him.

"I- well he- yes I suppose I am close to him. Why?"

Mycroft hummed again before saying in a haughty manner Lestrade was coming to associate with him, "I worry about him. Constantly"

Lestrade paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. Concern? Ha. He merely raised an eyebrow to convey to Mycroft exactly what he thought of his 'concern'.

Mycroft merely sighed, Lestrade's stare never wavering. "Inspector, you must understand that Sherlock Holmes is dangerous, you've seen it Inspector. I am merely taking this chance to ask you nicely to observe and watch over Mr Holmes. If you wish I could make it an order, I'm sure the Commissioner would be more than happy to do me a favour"

"Inspector?" he questioned, after did nothing but sit there and stare. Gregory shook himself and looked back at the man opposite him.

"Mr. -" he stopped, what had he said his last name was? Mycroft didn't answer, letting the inspector flounder around in his memory for a last name Mycroft hadn't supplied. Mycroft saw the moment that Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade gave up his control and let out his emotions, his words conveyed his meaning even if the proper grammar and English niceties weren't there.

"Look I'm not spying on Sherlock, no matter what you do. We need his brilliance on certain cases and I will not put that in jeopardy simply because some strange man orders me to. The Commissioner can order all he likes, if its information you want then you should do your own gather. I'm sure all I can tell you you already know."

Mycroft smiled, "If you feel that way Detective Inspector I can only respect your wishes. I think you'll find a memo from the Commissioner on your desk in the morning, asking for all information on Sherlock Holmes. I shall be there at noon to pick anything up and for a briefing" with that Mycroft stood, picking his umbrella up from behind the chair. Nodding to the DI, Mycroft left him sitting at the little table, a half eaten cooling meal before him

As he was walking away he heard the Inspector sighing, "The car will take you home Inspector"

Alone in a warehouse, Lestrade placed his fork on the plate, his napkin beside it and took one last sip of the expensive wine. Standing he made his way back to the car, thoroughly confused and angry.

Muttering about top-job government types who think they can boss everyone around the whole car trip home. In the front seat Mycroft's driver couldn't help but smile at the DI's impression of his boss, Mr Holmes would be happy to hear the Detectives rather creative and colourful description of him.

**OoOoOoO**

After the event of last night, Gregory Lestrade found himself swamped in paperwork. Just as Mycroft had promised a memo had been placed on his task before he arrived, it was from the Commissioner, no surprise there, demanding all information on filed or not on Sherlock Holmes to be given to a Mr Mycroft at twelve noon.

Lestrade finished his paperwork first, ignoring the memo and the fluttering of his stomach at the prospect of seeing Mycroft again. After all other possible jobs had been finished Lestrade finally gathered everything they had on Sherlock, asking Donovan and Anderson to each write up a short report on the man.

Anderson had yet to hand his report in when Mycroft appeared. Lestrade had been standing in the kitchen area making himself a coffee when he saw the elevator door open and the strikingly suited man step out. Confused by his own emotions Lestrade merely caught Mycroft's eye before walking back to his office, confident that Mycroft would follow him.

Of course Mycroft had followed him, he was here for a reason after all Lestrade muttered to his traitorous brain. Mycroft swooped into the office like he owned it, sitting gracefully in one of the chairs before Lestrade's desk a knowing smirk on his face.

Sighing Lestrade picked up the folder holding all the information and held it out to Mycroft. "That's everything we have on him, plus a report by one of my officers. It's not much. Like I said, I'm sure you know it all already"

Mycroft smiled taking the folder from Lestrade's outstretched hand, flicking through it idly. Interesting, "And what about cases he has help you with, would there be anything in those files, perhaps? An idea of how many cases his worked on, Inspector?"

Mycroft watched as Lestrade struggled to control his temper, Mycroft supposed he was trying not to upset his important visitor.

"Detective Lestrade, here's the report you asked for" Anderson spoke from the doorway, allowing Lestrade to wrestle control over his temper. Anderson was looking at Mycroft with undisguised curiosity and superiority. Mycroft sighed at the officers' lack of manners or breeding, really it wasn't so much to ask for to be treated respectfully and with deference, after all he was the man superior even if he did not know it. Sighing, Mycroft wondered if he should introduce a training course for the police force, proper respect and tact. The man was stilling standing there, a sneer now in place.

"Thank you Anderson that will be all" Lestrade's voice broke the silent contest of wills between Mycroft and Anderson. Sneer still in place Anderson left, muttering 'at least wasn't as rude as the freak' under his breath. Mycroft however heard him, a potent rage washed through him, asserting his iron control Mycroft tried to quash the emotion. He failed, "Excuse me?" he called to the retreating figure of Anderson.

"Who are you calling a freak?"

Anderson turned, "Sorry sir, wasn't talking about you. Merely a psychopath who considers himself a detective" Mycroft was bristling now.

"And would this psychopath" he sneered the word, as if it was poison in his mouth, a disgusting flavour he wanted to rid himself of, "happen to be Sherlock Holmes?"

The question was met with silence, the Met officers around Lestrade's office had turned to watch the confrontation. Lestrade was standing in the doorway to his office, feeling his control over the situation slipping.

"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it" he tried to pacify the angered man.

"Oh I'm sure he did, Inspector. And for that he shall be punished" Mycroft's voice was cold and dangerous, Lestrade shivered. That voice caused chills down his spine in both a good way and a bad way. The intensity of the emotion behind his words causing a slight flash of lust in the detective, while the coldness and certainty of evil made him shiver in fear and promise to remain on Mycroft's good side.

Anderson snorted not believing the man's words, taking no heed in the certainty of it. He'd cocooned himself in the certainty that as a police officer nothing could hurt him.

Mycroft smiled a smile of pure evil. The other officers shivered, their survival instincts telling them this man was dangerous, to run and avoid his wrath. Anderson on the other hand was too dense to notice his colleagues fear.

Mycroft laughed a low sinister chuckle, "Inspector I do believe that you will be in need of a new team member by the end of the week" with that he returned to Lestrade's office, Gregory stood in the doorway uncertain. He looked out over the floor at his team members and colleagues, with a confused and resigned sigh he turned around and shut the door before making his way back to his desk, sinking thankfully into his chair.

"Did you have to do that?" he muttered to the room, once again not expecting an answer.

Mycroft doesn't answer of course, he's to busy trying to regain his composure. "Inspector, do you know how Sherlock is doing?"

The question puzzles Lestrade, "From what I last saw of him he was perfectly fine, normal by his standards. That Dr Watson seems to keep him in line…" Lestrade pauses, mulling over the changes in Sherlock, five years and the last few months had shown him a totally different side to Sherlock Holmes. He chuckled, "Their denial that they are a couple is quiet funny though"

Mycroft smiled, so he wasn't the only one, he though. "Yes it is, isn't it. I've never known Sherlock to not know something before everyone else. Or to be so obtuse in his observations of someone"

Lestrade smiled. "He should get his act together, that Sarah has her eye of John and he may settle for her if he sees no hope in Sherlock"

Mycroft cocked his head slightly much like a puppy does, observing Lestrade. It was unusual for him to have such amicable conversations, or for someone to be so astute in their observations of his brothers' emotional range.

Mycroft and Lestrade sat for a while longer, Lestrade offering coffee or tea and Mycroft declining in favour of discussing Sherlock. The meeting went almost undisturbed from then on, however they were forced to part when Lestrade was called to the scene of a particularly grisly murder. "I shall call back in a week, Detective. And I would like for our little meetings to remain a secret from Sherlock, he need not know about them" and with that the mysterious Mycroft disappeared from Lestrade's office.

As the Scotland Yard officers were readying for the investigation of a murder Mycroft slipped through them. Instinctively they shied away from him, avoiding eye contact and swift movement, as if he was a cobra poised to attack. Smiling his cruel and satisfied smile Mycroft left them to their murder knowing that Sherlock would likely be called in for this one.

And true to his thoughts Sherlock had been called in, after a second victim was found murdered in the same fashion. The body had been found in a backstreet alley next to a dumpster. Not wanting to admit it but having to Lestrade called Sherlock, asking for his help, Sherlock being Sherlock sounded bored when he accepted the case but when he appeared dragging Dr John Watson with him looked anything but bored. He looked ecstatic, strutting through the crime scene like he owned it and exchanging barbs with Donovan.

"Can't see Anderson around" he remarked off handily to no one in particular. John merely sighed at the antagonistic relationship between the two, really they were grown men.

"That's because you got him transferred" Donovan remarked with all her usual spite and antagonism.

"Me?" Sherlock was over dramatising again, over playing his innocent look and tone. Donovan glared before walking towards the scene. "Freaks here" she told Lestrade before walking away again, leaving Sherlock and John with Lestrade and a dead body.

Sherlock immediately began examining the body, picking up the little details and inferring the seeming obvious meanings to the waiting ears of Lestrade and John.

"Brilliant" Lestrade didn't even look at John this time, the doctors exclamations of Sherlock's genius were to common at crime scenes now. However the soft tread of Sherlock's shoes as he moved and the rustle of clothing accompanied by the sound of fervent kissing drew the unsuspecting detective's eye. Looking up from the body Lestrade was greeted by the sight of Sherlock wrapped around John, arms around him hands resting on the small of his back and mouth firmly attached to John's. And then there were the moans, soft but unmistakable.

Clearing his throat very loudly Lestrade managed to gain the attention of the two, raising his eyebrow in question Lestrade managed to get the consulting detective back on track, John blushing moved a little away before continuing to take notes.

When Sherlock had finished examining the body he grabbed John's arm and dragged him out of the alley, calling back to Lestrade that he'd call him later. Gregory didn't even want to think about what those two were going to do. Smiling but befuddled Lestrade called his team back over to continue their own investigation and clean up of the scene.

**OoOoOoO**

After Anderson's transfer to Cornwall no one within Lestrade's department questioned Mycroft's repeated presence again. Two weeks after their first meeting and the revelation to Lestrade of John and Sherlock's relationship. Lestrade doesn't think anyone else saw, which is surprising since they were in an alleyway and there were other officers around, like Donovan for instance, who would love the opportunity to tease Sherlock about anything.

Gregory is in his office filling out the ever-present paperwork when Mycroft arrives.

"Good morning, Inspector" his manner is impeccable as always. "How has the London criminal syndicate been treating you lately?"

Lestrade smiled, "Same as usual, they keep us busy and on our toes. Not to mention they keep Sherlock entertain"

Mycroft hummed his agreement, "yes they do, don't they. How is the great consulting detective?" Lestrade was leaning back in his chair, to anyone else he would appear nonchalant but Mycroft could see the underlying tension. Hmm, I wonder why his tense? He thought.

"He seems to be handling the lull in crime well. That may be because of his flatmate and partner, Dr Watson. They're together now, you know?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrow in amazement, he hadn't expected his brother to approach the good doctor so soon, hadn't expected him to process his emotions so quickly and be able to convince the doctor of his devotion. And devotion it was, Mycroft may not have seen them together himself but he knew his brother and nothing but a true devotion and love could tempt Sherlock into any form of relationship with a man or woman. Dr John Watson was a very lucky man.

"Hmm, maybe we can expect a happy announcement after all" he murmured, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up. Lestrade sat entranced by the man in front of him; it must be something in the Holmes' genes that made them so remarkably intelligent and attractive.

The meeting passed to quickly for Lestrade. Mycroft asking questions about Sherlock's little actions, the details his reports couldn't tell him about his brother. Lestrade was happy to be spending time with Mycroft; watching him, learning him. And sometime in his observation he released that he was obsessing over the man like a girl with her first crush.

Horrified by the realisation Lestrade had endeavoured to act naturally for the rest of the meeting but no matter his acting skills he was glad when the meeting ended giving him the chance to sort out his jumble of feelings for Mycroft.

"I look forward to next week, Detective Inspector" Mycroft smiled slightly as he bid farewell to the detective, his voice carefully neutral, "I hope your week is enjoyable. Until then" Umbrella swinging he left the Scotland Yard building and a very confused detective behind.

**OoOoOoO**

It was two days latter that Lestrade finally had a case that was beyond his mental capabilities, the intricacies that Sherlock saw in a crime scene, could deduce from a woman's jewellery alone made him a valuable asset to Scotland Yard, if only a few more of the DI's would acknowledge it.

Lestrade's mind wondered as the police car wove through the London traffic on its way to 221B Baker Street. His thoughts inevitable landed on the mystery of Mycroft. Lestrade knew something's about the man; that he was a top official, he had power (he had manipulated the Police Commissioner) and was respected, he was intelligent and had deduction skills much like Sherlock's, but other than the obvious Lestrade was clueless to the man. He wondered why Mycroft had chosen now to ask for information, Lestrade had been working with Sherlock for five years now and had never in all that time been approached by anyone for information relating to Sherlock. So why now? What was different?

Pulling himself from his thought Lestrade got out of the car and approached the door marked 221B, knocking loudly and waiting for the landlady, Mrs Hudson, to open the door.

The wait isn't long, the door is opened and the smiling Mrs Hudson welcomes him in, waving towards the stairs and telling him to make sure to knock, "you never know what you'll find with those two" she says as she drifts back to her own apartment.

A bit apprehensive Lestrade climbs the stairs; ears open for any untoward sounds. Luckily he heard nothing that sounded like he would be interrupting anything, or that the situation he walked into would be awkward. Cautiously he knocked on the closed door, a muffled sound was heard from behind it, Lestrade didn't even try to make out the words.

Suddenly the door was open, revealing a dishevelled Sherlock in his blue dressing gown, shirt-less with only a pair of sweatpants on. Lestrade gave Sherlock a glance over and smirked, "Interrupt something, did I?" His earlier apprehensions gone at seeing Sherlock so ruffled. It made him more human, more likeable. Lestrade could see why John liked Sherlock, but for all Lestrade's minds admiration of Sherlock he couldn't help but put Mycroft in Sherlock's shoes, imagining what the man would look like after a long night of steamy sex.

OH GOD. He's thoughts had aroused him and now Sherlock was giving him a weird look. He must think I was thinking of him, oh god no. Lestrade was about to panic. All the possibilities were bad; Sherlock would find out that he was giving someone information about him, Sherlock would think he was interested, or he would never again agree to help Lestrade. The last one seemed the most improbable of all, Sherlock would get to bored without an interesting case to alleviate his boredom, though he did have John now.

"Lestrade?" Lestrade was jerked from his thoughts.

"Right. Sorry. A case. I… um… oh god." He took a deep fortifying breath before continuing. "It looks like a serial killers work. A mass storage of bodies, about five. There all in the one building, some are fresh and some look like they've been there years."

Sherlock was looking at him strangely again. Hmm, he hummed, turning back into the apartment he called out "JOHN" before turning back to the inspector, "Where?"

"Soho"

"We'll see you there in half an hour" and with that he closed the door on Lestrade. Sighing and Lestrade turned back around however the door once again opening had him turning back towards Sherlock only to find John in Sherlock's purple dressing gown "Could you give Mrs Hudson the address, thanks"

The door was slammed again but it did nothing to stop the sounds the two lovers made from reaching Lestrade, once again he turned and walked away from the apartment. He knocked on Mrs Hudson's door and left her with a slip of paper with the address written on it for the two men after that he left the building feeling rather confused and embarrassed. He couldn't help but feel he'd made a fool of himself.

It was a little more than half an hour latter when Sherlock and John showed up at the house in Soho. The Scotland Yard officers were standing around having already done their analysis of the scene and gathered all the evidence they would need.

"Freaks here" Donovan's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. Gregory wondered if Donovan would ever say anything else when Sherlock arrived, maybe 'the Dream Team are here' Lestrade mentally sighed, his mind was on another planet tonight. He wondered if it was enjoying its time there.

When Sherlock and John appeared before him, Lestrade got a glimpse of a number of red marks littering John's neck and even a few on Sherlock's, though his seemed to be covered by his scarf. Lestrade wondered what Mycroft would make of their display.

Dropping the thought and focusing on the crime at hand he motioned the two to follow him, "This way" he said before walking towards the bodies. Lestrade knew how Sherlock worked after five years, however he'd never get over the way that John had managed to insert himself in Sherlock method of deduction. As long as he'd known him Sherlock had worked alone, scoffing at anyone's attempt to help him or deduce something of their own. John on the other hand spoke freely, offering ideas and bouncing back Sherlock's own deductions.

Arms crossed Lestrade watched them work now, John examining the bodies medically and Sherlock gathering clues and evidence for his deductions. It wasn't long before John was done and moving to stand to the side like Lestrade. Nervously Gregory looked between John and Sherlock, wondering if he should ask about Mycroft, perhaps confess that he'd talked to the man, liked the man and even fan-

No. He hadn't meant to say that last one. Nope, not at all.

Lestrade glanced at John, hesitating for a second before opening his mouth and then closing it again. How did he ask John if he knew Mycroft?

His dilemma was forgotten when Sherlock began rattling off his deductions on the case, telling him more than anyone else had been able too. Sherlock finished his speech by asking Lestrade what he'd been about to say. "Oh, nothing. Nothing of importance. I was –"

"You were?" Sherlock seemed uninterested and slightly annoyed. Lestrade wondered if he hadn't expected an answer.

"I was wondering if I can expect a happy announcement?"

John froze; he'd heard those words before. But it couldn't be, Lestrade had no reason to see Mycroft. Expect if it was governmental, wasn't Mycroft the government?

Sherlock merely gave Lestrade a look that clearly stated -your-wasting-my-time-with-your-idiotic-questions-. Lestrade looked away ashamed of his behaviour today, really what had got into him, he was never like this.

Sherlock was already striding off, John hesitating before giving one last final look at Lestrade before following the retreating figure of Sherlock Holmes.

Sighing Lestrade mustered his remaining energy and called out, "Alright everyone lets wrap this up"

Pulling himself together Lestrade moved to help his team pack up and get the bodies to the morgue. It was half way through the clean and pack up that he saw the sleek black car, smiling to himself Lestrade continued with his tasks. After all it wouldn't do to keep Mycroft waiting.

**OoOoOoO**

Weeks past, Mycroft continued his visits to Lestrade; whether he was at his office, at crime scenes or at his house as one visit demonstrated. And with every visit Lestrade found himself feeling more and more for the mysterious man.

If Lestrade didn't know any better he'd think he was falling for Mycroft. But he couldn't be, he wasn't even gay. No, what he felt for Mycroft was friendship, he told himself.

They were once again at a crime scene; Sherlock, John and Lestrade crowded around the body. Lestrade glanced between the two, wondering if they were still on. At that moment John was looking at Sherlock, watching him examine the body, Lestrade could see the love in his gaze, the deep affection the doctor felt for the slightly damaged Sherlock.

Sherlock was rattling off a number of deductions while Gregory tried to keep up in writing them down. When he was done Sherlock began to waltz off, John stepping towards the black-hair sociopath. "Wait. John could I have a moment?"

John glanced back at Lestrade, his gaze questioning, before he looked back at Sherlock who merely shrugged and told him, "I'll meet you out the front John" before walking off.

Lestrade shifted, John's gaze now fixed on him. "What is it, Lestrade?"

"Um" Greg glanced around, "Do you know a Mycroft?"

John blanched, "Mycroft?" the name was an exclamation and a question at the same time. Lestrade nodded anyway. "Mycroft Holmes?" John asked again.

Lestrade looked away from John, "I don't know about Holmes. He never mentioned his last name" he stopped for a moment, the wheels spinning, "Oh. That would explain a lot"

John sighed, "Did he offer you money to spy on Sherlock?"

"No. No money, just subtly threatened me into sharing information." John was looking horrified and Lestrade was wondering if he'd put his foot in it now.

"Really. He's actually nice, in his own frosty, manipulative, and superior way" John raised his eyebrow at that. "He did get Anderson transferred. He could have had him fired" Lestrade added, beginning to feel defensive about Mycroft. John couldn't argue that one, he more so than Lestrade knew Mycroft's extensive power. But still, Mycroft should know better than to spy on his brother, John himself had talked to the man and demanded no more surveillance. Then again maybe that's why Lestrade was now relaying information.

Lestrade took John's silence as disbelief, "He really seems to care about Sherlock"

John nodded, he knew Mycroft cared about Sherlock, in his own weird Holmesian way. And God knew the Holmes' were a dysfunction and weird lot, and John should know, he went to Christmas dinner.

"Look, Lestrade, could you try not to tell him anything more. I'll have a talk to him and try to get him off your back." Lestrade was nodding and frowning at the same time, totally at conflict with himself. On the one hand he wanted the drop ins and abductions to stop, on the other he didn't want to stop seeing Mycroft. Which inevitably lead him to his feelings for the man, strictly platonic he reminded himself, there were no romantic interests, no quickening on his heat-rate when Mycroft looked at him or when he saw him after he stepped out of the car. No, none of that.

John smiled once again before leaving Lestrade in turmoil.

**OoOoOoO**

The first time Lestrade saw Mycroft after he's talk with John was out the front of the Yard. He hadn't noticed Mycroft's black governmental car stationed out the front of the Yard building. He'd walked straight by it and had reached the stairs before Mycroft designed to make his presence known, "today is your day off Inspector. I rather expected you to enjoy it"

The comment wasn't what Lestrade had expected Mycroft to say. It had almost sounded as if Mycroft cared for him, an impossible feat, but equally impossible was his reaction to the words, a warm butterfly feeling in his stomach.

Ignoring the butterflies and everything else, Lestrade turned, his smile slightly forced. "Crime doesn't take days off" he replied, his voice as even as he could make it.

Mycroft merely made a non-committal noise and smirked at Lestrade. He'd noticed, of course, the tightness around the inspector's lips and the panicked confusion in his eyes. Cataloguing these details Mycroft smiled politely while gesturing Lestrade to get in the car. For a moment Lestrade didn't move, internally debating wether or not to get in the car. Mycroft solved his inner war with his commanding and persuasive voice, "if you could, Inspector"

The words were simple and yet a million details were conveyed in them; the silent threat, the steel of a command from an official higher up in the chain of command, the expectation of obedience, and yet the note of anticipation suggested Mycroft was up to something. Lestrade should have been suspicious, untrusting and running away and yet he found himself curious to what Mycroft was up to. A seed of hope sprouting, Lestrade's mind conjuring images of Mycroft confessing, of being ravished most thoroughly in a darkened room or warehouse, of being in a restaurant with Mycroft on a date. All of these ideas were preposterous, Mycroft thought of him as an informant, a friend at best and Lestrade didn't want to ruin their precarious friendship.

Lestrade's inner thoughts had distracted him from his bodies movements, he'd only just become aware that he was already seated in the back seat of Mycroft's car, the man beside him silent and poised, the image of a Victorian gentleman in modern day clothes.

Unbidden the image of Mycroft in frock coat and tails with tight pants and knee high boots telling the less appealing image of Lestrade himself decked out in the same clothes being told, 'propriety, my dear inspector, says I should not be doing this' before winding a hand behind Lestrade's neck and pulling him into a scorching kiss.

The little scene of his mind left Lestrade blushing, embarrassed, he turned away from Mycroft, hoping that this little expedition would last long and he would soon find himself lost in a sea of paper work or in the comfort of his small dingy flat.

Alas, it was not to be. Lestrade was quickly becoming confused, the drive was taking too long, either Mycroft was having him driven around to confuse him or they were leaving London and moving towards the country.

A few hours later the car pulled to a stop, Mycroft exiting the car first before reaching out to help Lestrade out. Gregory contemplated slapping the hand away before reluctantly grasping it, allowing Mycroft to help him out.

Gregory Lestrade found himself out side a picturesque country cottage; the thatch roof, white washed walls, garden surrounding the building. Lestrade could see cows in the fields beyond the house and what was more likely than not was a horse in another field. However he didn't allow him self long to sightsee, quickly he turned back to Mycroft who had been observing him the whole time.

Mycroft seeing that Lestrade was about to turn back to him schooled his features back into his stern mask of indifference that incited doubt and fear in many of the world's most prominent persons. And yet one D.I. from the Met could hold stern against it, and even, if Mycroft's inductions were correct, loved it, his body betraying the arousal he felt when Mycroft's gaze was directed at him.

Mycroft decided to ignore the heated look in Lestrade's eyes, it would be counter productive to initiate a relationship of any degree with the man. Even though a relationship would be delicious and agreeable to Mycroft personally it wouldn't, couldn't work or happen.

Yet no matter what his rational mind thought Mycroft found himself drawn in by the Detective; he constantly found himself thinking of the slightly grey-haired man at the most inconvenient times. Repressing a sigh Mycroft lead the way into the cottage, leading Lestrade into the already prepared parlour. Seating himself on one of the Victorian style chairs Mycroft steepled his fingers before regarding his, no not his, the nervous Inspector.

But Gregory Lestrade was more perceptive than Mycroft gave him credit for, all those years of working with and watching Sherlock apply his methods had worn off on the Inspector. Lestrade had caught a flash of emotion in Mycroft's eyes, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out what the emotion was, every time he thought he had it pinned it slip away from him.

Without waiting for Mycroft Lestrade reached forward and poured himself a cup of tea and grabbed a tea cake, placing it on the little saucer. Sitting back his bounty in his lap, Lestrade considered the man across from him.

Mycroft, though not willowy and thin like his brother Sherlock, was not fat nor was he what some call stocky, but rather his very presence made him seem larger than he was. Lestrade liked to liken him to a hill, he seemed bigger than he was. But even that wasn't an adapt description of Mycroft. Frankly Lestrade couldn't find words to describe the man; sure there was intimidating, protective, secretive, powerful, mysterious, as well as sexy and handsome. Though the last two could just be Gregory's perception of the man being impaired by his lust and growing affection. A lust that was beginning to cloud his mind; blurring all lines of propriety.

Lost in his own contemplations Lestrade didn't hear Mycroft until he called his name. "I'm sorry?"

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes, really the Inspector was giving his emotions away. Mycroft had always scoffed at the people who wore their heart on their sleeve, believing it to be troublesome and inconvenient, hindering the ability to lie and act successfully. But with Lestrade it was almost comforting, knowing that the man was genuine in his emotions and responses, and that he truly held Mycroft in high regard. Mycroft, on the odd occasion, found himself imagining Gregory making the first move, of being 'jumped' by the man before taking the reins and ravishing his inspector senseless.

But no matter the fantasies Mycroft was certain that Lestrade would not act on his emotions, in fact if the signs were right Lestrade was still in conflict with himself, believing himself to be a straight man, and therefore wouldn't initiate any sexual contact with Mycroft.

Mycroft released a sigh of long suffering, "Really Inspector, please do listen. As I was saying, you're department need to accept Sherlock's help. I've noticed quite a few of them hold him in contempt and ignore his deduction. Talk to them Inspector or they might end up like Anderson"

Lestrade nodded, slightly fearful for his colleges, none of them deserved to be transferred to a dead end town for insulting one man, it was unfair and a mistreatment of power. But it wasn't as if Lestrade could argue with Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother was extremely protective of his sibling making Gregory wonder if that protectiveness now extended to Doctor John Watson.

Lestrade had noticed that John was now in the habit of glaring at the police officer who dared to insult or mock Sherlock in his presence, even if they didn't say anything John glared anyway as if he knew their thought were insults. Sherlock seemed to glow when John glared, revelling in the protectiveness of his lover. Lestrade had caught them giving each other very heated looks over crime scenes and he'd tried not to think of what the two of them would get up to after they'd leave.

Of course either Mycroft already knew the extent of his brother's relationship with his flatmate or he would soon find out, either way Lestrade wasn't going to be the one to tell him. He didn't want to tell Mycroft any thing anymore, he was sick of tattling on his friend and becoming increasingly run down by the effort to repress his feelings for the man.

"You know what Mycroft?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow in question, his lips quirking slightly and his head tilted to the right. "I quit, I'm not going to give you information on Sherlock anymore. I don't care what you do, I'm done." He crossed his arms for emphasis, mouth set in a hard line.

Mycroft was slightly stunned, he hadn't seen that coming. And Lestrade's body language said there was no chance of changing his mind, the man was stubborn to say the least.

Giving a barely decipherable nod Mycroft stood and made his way to the door. Following suit, Lestrade stood and made to follow Mycroft but was stopped when Mycroft raised his hand, "Please stay, Detective, if only for the day. Though you're more than welcome to stay over night, there are stare things upstairs if you require them and I can arrange for you to have tomorrow off, if you so wish."

Lestrade looked away, his thoughts in a chaos. The main question; why was he doing this? He'd just told him he wasn't spying anymore, that he was done being used, follow, interrupted and kidnapped. And yet Mycroft was offering him a short respite, perhaps he thought to sway Lestrade, it wouldn't work, Gregory Lestrade was, if nothing else, a stubborn man.

Nodding Mycroft smiled a little sadly, "Thank you Inspector, the car will take you home when ever you wish" he turned away giving Lestrade a profile view as he placed a business card on the side table, "If you ever need anything, just call."

Resigned Mycroft walked through the arched doorway of the parlour and into the small entrance hall. Five strides and he was turning the door handle, he could feel Lestrade standing in the archway, watching him. He glanced back as he pulled the door open and there he was, he's arms hanging by his sides, his face a mosaic of confusion, annoyance, regret, anger and some tender emotion that Mycroft couldn't name.

He turned away. Crossing the threshold, he pulled the door shut behind him, almost not hearing the cry of "wait!"

The door was pulled open, jerking the handle out of Mycroft grasp. And there stood Lestrade his eyes sad, his regret now the more prominent emotion. Regret for what? Mycroft wondered. Perhaps he's reconsidered conveying information on Sherlock, a smooth voice whispered in his mind, the voice he linked to his political, logical and rational side. Perhaps he's going to ravish you, whispered the man in him, the one that knew he wanted Gregory, the one that he denied and suppressed. The thought however was not unappealing; in fact it was more appealing that all his favourite foods together.

And then Gregory was right there in front of Mycroft, his face inches from Mycroft's, hands hovering close. One calloused hand rose to rest against Mycroft's cheek, the finger softly stroking the bone of his cheek. Mycroft couldn't suppress his reaction, leaning into the touch he watched entranced as Gregory's lips came closer. Their lips pressed together softly, the kiss light and chaste and yet the intensity of the emotion behind it demanded more. A sigh of a moan escaped Mycroft encouraging Lestrade. Pressing harder the kiss became more passionate; their lips now moving and slightly parted, hands roaming backs and pressing them closer, their breathing heavy. Lestrade's tongues caressed the seam of Mycroft's mouth, begging entrance, entrance that Mycroft couldn't deny. Opening for him, Mycroft allowed Gregory to plunder his mouth, he felt Lestrade stroke the roof of his mouth. Moaning Mycroft gently pressed against Lestrade's chest, their lips breaking apart, they each drew in a lungful of air.

Smiling at each other, they stood there in a now awkward silence. Their minds running with questions; should they continue, what will come of this, does he want more, how does he feel about me, and the plain old question of why?

With no answers coming, Mycroft stepped back and glanced over his shoulder, the car was still there and his driver had likely seen all of that. Oh well the man could be silence, not to mention he wouldn't talk in the first place if he knew what was good for him.

"I should go" he muttered pointedly not looking at Gregory before walking away. Not once looking back.

If Mycroft had been looking at Gregory he would have seen the stricken horror on his face, Mycroft apparent rejection fell like a sledge hammer on his heart, shattering his once broken heart. Mycroft's words, though innocent, cut Gregory to the core, bring back the buried memories of his once happy marriage and the messy divorce that followed; memories of his wife walking out, of being rejected over and over again as he tried to find someone, of his lowest point in life, his drinking and smoking, and of the overwhelming loneliness.

With Mycroft Lestrade hadn't felt lonely, he's felt needed, cared for. He'd felt emotions he had long thought himself incapable of feeling. And now he was back to square one, alone and rejected.

At least no one would know.

As the car drove off a bitter laugh escaped Lestrade, no one would know his ass. Sherlock would know the minute he saw him, and then John would give him pitying looks. His team would realise that Mycroft wasn't visiting anymore, Donovan would most likely feel the need to comment and Anderson would make some snide remark, neither one would help.

And Lestrade would be alone, left to carry on life, trudge to work, fill out paper work and file reports, attend crime scenes and catch the 'bad guys'. And all the while he'd have a broken heart, ruined and useless and shattered beyond repair.

**OoOoOoO**

The weeks past, Lestrade dragging himself to work each day, and each day the pain in his chest got worse. The first time he'd seen Sherlock since kissing Mycroft nothing was said, though he saw the way Sherlock's eyes had run over him, assessing and analysing, coming to his conclusion. It was likely right too, but he never said anything; whether through John's influence or not, Lestrade was bloody grateful, he didn't want to deal with it. His team were beginning to notice something was amiss; his sloppy clothes, his unkept stubble and depressing manner likely gave it away. Surprisingly though they never said a word.

He suspected it had something to do with Sherlock and John. He'd seen them in last week, they hadn't waltzed straight into his office but merely stayed outside talking to his team members, without insults or raised voices which had meant that Lestrade could ignore their presence and continue brooding under the pretence of filling out paperwork. The only down side of his lifestyle, apart from the searing pain of his heart, was the pitying looks he was receiving, even if they only ever gave them behind his back, it galled him.

And yet all the pain that Mycroft was causing him he couldn't hate the man. He found himself staring off into space remembering their kiss, or even just thinking of the many meetings they'd held in his office, the pick ups from crime scenes or off the street. All these memories were now bittersweet.

Unbeknown to Lestrade Mycroft had been watching him. Watching as his D.I., no he could claim ownership over Gregory, he was his own man. So he watched him, ensuring that he had everything he needed, whatever it be; be it peace and quiet, easily achieved with a subtle threat here and there to making sure that no one pried in the detective's life or sudden change. Mycroft had even managed to warn Sherlock to be subtle, that approaching Lestrade or being blunt wouldn't cut it and would likely result in never being involved in cases ever again.

But life had to go on, Mycroft's job demanded his every attention but every spare moment between the paperwork, phone calls, political meetings, etc. was spent thinking of Lestrade, of their kiss and watching the man. Mycroft, unused to emotion, found himself a little scared. He was watching old footage of himself and Gregory in one of their meetings, he couldn't help but observe their idle flirting; the now blatant attraction they shared. And so Mycroft found himself feeling some akin to love, and though he was loath to admit it it may very well be love he was feeling.

However Mycroft didn't know how to go about telling Lestrade and making it all up to him so he continued his vigilant watch over the man, protecting him from afar. Wishing fervently that fairytales did come true because then he would get his man and live happily ever after. But life wasn't a fairytale and Gregory wasn't going to be his unless he did something. The question was what to do.

All the same the question wasn't going to be answered by them. No it was answered by John.

John had convinced Sherlock to hold a party, a celebration of a year together; as flatmates, colleges and lovers, not all necessarily for a year. Mummy Holmes had coerced them into allowing her to host the party at the Holmes home, inviting all their friends; Molly, Mike, Harry, Lestrade and his crew, Mycroft and Anthea, and Sarah had been invited. The whole lot of them, an eclectic bunch of people, all of them socialising in the sprawling Holmes mansion, the impressive grounds spread before them did nothing to defuse the growing tension between the guests.

John had known that the party wasn't going to be the best, he'd faced the facts when Mummy Holmes had given him the guest list. But the tension now was more than he had expected, really he'd thought they could all behave like the grown adults they were, maybe be genuinely happy for Sherlock and him. Of course he knew that they were but they just weren't showing it. At all.

Anderson and Donovan were in a corner of the ballroom, heads together plotting; occasionally they'd glance over at Lestrade before going back to plotting.

Mike had introduced Molly to Harry, who seemed quite taken with Molly, shooting coy glanced up from under her lashes and flirting horrendously. Mike was standing off to the side like a referee, watching the two women with ill concealed amusement.

John was with the Holmes family, Mummy Holmes Mycroft and Sherlock. Mummy Holmes was watching Sherlock and John, who though they weren't looking at each other were holding hands and standing with their arms pressed together. Mycroft was occupied with studying Lestrade, staring at the man as if he fear that if he looked away Lestrade would disappear, he even appeared to be holding off blinking. Sherlock noticed the direction of John gaze, acknowledging it with a squeeze of his hand he lent down and whispered in John's ear, "Don't worry. It'll work itself out. Mycroft won't be able to stay away. And if it comes to it, Mummy with force her hand." John couldn't help the smile that broke.

He well remembered Mummy Holmes's help. She's sent them a letter, a very graphic letter, to push them into a relationship. John allowed his curiosity over the event to over come him. Drawing upon his courage he looked over at Mummy Holmes, "Mrs Holmes, could I ask a question?" she nodded, an elegant movement that reminded John of Sherlock's manner of moving. "The letter you sent Sherlock and I. How did you manage to get such a likeness? And how did you know it would work?"

Mrs Holmes smiled, "When I first heard Sherlock had a flatmate I had your file pulled, of course Mycroft made it some much easier having had it already pulled. And then I had a surveillance team follow you. I just used some of the surveillance footage for the letter. As for it working, well I knew it would work on Sherlock, incite his curiosity. In your case it was more a risk than anything else"

Sherlock chuckled, "Come now Mother. With all your surveillance I'm certain you presumed that John would be induced to a relationship through the danger of it. Or perhaps you merely saw deep seated emotions within us while having us followed and got bored waiting for the porn."

"Sherlock!" cried John, absolutely scandalised and quite embarrassed. He really hoped Sherlock's mother had been watching them go at it like bunnies. Or the kink they bought to the bedroom.

Sherlock's response was to give John and bland look before rolling his head in an odd fashion in order to return to his scrutiny of his mother.

"Really Sherlock. I respect you privacy. The surveillance team had orders to cense surveillance once you too became a couple or began copulating in front of their eyes. So really the only comprising position you were seen in was a rather heated kiss"

John released a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. Pausing he thanked what ever god there was that at least one Holmes had a concept of privacy and socially acceptable behaviour.

Out of the corner of his eye John saw Mycroft step away and then pause, hesitating. His attention caught John glanced in the direction of Mycroft gaze, finding his eyes landing of Lestrade surrounded by Anderson, Donovan and a few of the other Met officers present. John noted that Sherlock and Mrs Holmes were also watching as Lestrade made angry gestures at the circle of detectives

Mrs Holmes stepped forward, resting her hand on Mycroft's forearm; she looked up into her sons face and smiled reassuringly. John felt like an intruder watching mother and son, Mycroft's lips had twisted into a derisive smile, as if he didn't believe what his mother thought, that is to say that he still had a chance at happiness and love. Mrs Holmes dropped her smile then, frowning she looked back to the angrier Lestrade; he was shouting now, his arms failing wildly with his accompanying gestures.

John wondered what they were arguing over. "No! It is my life and I'll destroy it if I want to" the angry cry had all heads turning, even those who had endeavoured to ignore the argument turned.

Sherlock stiffened at Lestrade's words, annoyance and frustration swelling Sherlock marched over to the circle of cops, pushing through until he faced the inspector. John noticed Mycroft staring intently at his brother and the detective, John wondered if he could read lips, it wasn't as if they could hear Sherlock's quite words from the other side of the wide room.

John watched as Lestrade bowed his head and nodded. He looked beaten and broken, like a lost child surrounded by strangers who just wished he was home where he was loved and cared for. In that moment John's protective instincts kicked in, he wanted to hold the inspector, protect him from what was hurting. But John knew that Lestrade would never let him do that, hell he likely wouldn't let anyone do it. He'd been hurt bad, scarred but by what John doesn't know.

The three of them, Mycroft Mrs Holmes and John watch as Sherlock lays his hand against Lestrade forearm, whispering something in his ear he led him from the ballroom and deep inside the Holmes mansion.

In another room, some distance from the ballroom, Sherlock had sat the inspector down in a cushiony chair before taking one for himself. Sitting across from him Sherlock waited for Lestrade to open up. Five minutes later when he was still waiting Sherlock lost all patience, standing he began pacing. On the second turn he saw Lestrade open then close his mouth, obliviously hesitating over his words or thoughts.

Finally giving up on waiting Sherlock turns on Lestrade, "Look Lestrade" his words are forceful and blunt, however unlike when he talks over a dead body Lestrade can detect more emotion behind his words, his deep hidden affection and the instinctual urge to protect family. "I know you fancy Mycroft and that he returns the sentiment. So go help me if you don't go into that room and set things right I will sick my mother on you. And god help you if I do that." He turned, warming to his subject, becoming more and more enthusiastic. "Or I could get John in on it, he already knows something's up, I'm sure he'd welcome a chance to match make and fix lives."

Lestrade shock his head, whether in denial of his feelings or complete horror over the prospect of John and Mummy Holmes's help, Sherlock couldn't tell. Lestrade answered the issue before he could begin to deduce the correct answer, though he suspected it was both plus something else.

"I can't Sherlock. As much as I'd like to he rejected me. He could have called, kidnapped me or even sent an email, a message through the ranks. Anything. But he didn't. I may not be as smart as you Sherlock but I know when someone isn't interested. And your brother isn't interested" he spoke with such conviction that Sherlock almost believed him, only the fact that he knew his brother was falling for the D.I. stopped him from agreeing.

"Lestrade, he watches you." Sherlock gave a sarcastic chuckle, "He's always at the crime scene, tell me you've at least noticed the men he has following you. Not to mention he's stared at you all night only looking away a handful of times."

Lestrade shook his head, unwilling to have his hopes raised. "Please Sherlock" he's voice was soft and defeated, "just drop it"

As Sherlock watched the man leave the room he was struck by the differences. The man who had just left was defeated, broken and a completely new person, not even new in the good way. He was jaded and sullen, likely depressed and taking it out on the world. The old Lestrade would never have taken rejection like that, he would have persevered even if he was in pain, and he most certainly wouldn't have let his personal issues interfere of his work.

Sighing in exasperation Sherlock followed Lestrade out of the room before wandering back to the party to update his family on the situation. As he walked he mental hurled insults at his brother, messing with his favourite detective, really there was only one Lestrade around and Mycroft just happened to pick him.

A flare of emotion stopped Sherlock in the middle of the hall as he tried to analyse the emotion. Possessiveness, perhaps, or maybe protectiveness, could even have been jealousy. But then again Sherlock had no reason to be jealous or possessive of Lestrade, he had John and John meant to world to him. So protectiveness it was then, maybe a tiny bit of possessiveness but only in a friendly way. Perhaps he just wanted to hold onto on of the few friends he had, to make sure that Mycroft didn't steal him away and brainwash him against him.

Sherlock smiled darkly, as manipulative as Mycroft was he wouldn't resort to brainwashing, no Mycroft would threaten and well manipulate to get his way.

Entering the ballroom Sherlock headed straight to John; grasping his lover around the waist he wrapped himself around him letting his chin rest on John's shoulder. Sherlock watched as John continued his conversation with his mother, not falter after his initial shock of Sherlock draped over him. Sherlock could see the note of parental satisfaction in his mother's eye when she looked at them, and for once Sherlock felt that he was better than Mycroft. He felt like he was the favoured son, even if it was only because he was the first son to commit to a lasting relationship outside of work. Mycroft didn't have what he had and wouldn't have it if he didn't get his ass into gear and talk to Lestrade, convince him of his affection.

Looking around the room, Sherlock noted that Lestrade hadn't returned to the ballroom and that Mycroft was also suspiciously absent. Other than that the rest of the guests had gone back to their previous activities. Sherlock could see Anderson and Donovan snogging in the darkened corner. Molly and Harry seemed to be getting on really well, casually touching and most likely flirting together, while Mike stood somewhat away from them, watching them like a proud mother who was slightly horrified, presumably the girls were being dirty?

Sherlock smiled before whispered his conclusion to John who laughed at his sisters antics. "Hmm" he hummed, very much aware of Mrs Holmes watching them, "Maybe Molly can clean her up. You never know, she could be a dominatrix in disguise."

Laughing they turned back to their conversation, Sherlock now participating instead of dissecting the rooms occupants.

**OoOoOoO**

Outside all the merrymaking Gregory Lestrade stood leaning against the wall, breathing in the cool fresh air. Lestrade could feel the hysteria setting in, the shear intensity of emotional pain and uncertainty crippling the once proud detective.

Dragging in an unsteady breath, Lestrade gazed out over the darken landscape, wishing he was anywhere but here, anywhere Mycroft wasn't. It was to painful seeing him again, watching him smile and laughing as if nothing had happened. Because Gregory was certain that nothing had happened for the man, he'd been kissed by an overworked Met Detective who had then disappeared. No contact, no sighting, not even a 'Mycroft says hi' from Sherlock. There was only silence and rejection, twisting in his gut and poisoning his thoughts.

And god did it hurt. Sinking to the floor, Lestrade drew his knees to his chest and cradled his head in his hands. He sat like that for god knows how long, regulating his breathing, calming himself, until a cough interrupted his peace.

Raising his head slowly Lestrade was greeted with the sight of the one man he didn't want to see, Mycroft. Ignoring the man presence Lestrade laid his head back down and return to his calming, valiantly trying to purge the poison of rejection, of Mycroft's doing, from his system. In that moment Lestrade wished he was a toy, so that with the press of a button he'd be back to the way he was, back to his original factory settings.

But he wasn't a toy and he couldn't forget the events of the past few months. Especially not when the cause of his problem was standing right next to him.

Mycroft was horribly conflicted, he was filled with a mixture of nervousness, love and an itch to resolve the problem. God he just wanted to take Gregory Lestrade into his arms and claim him as his own, to lavish his attention on; someone to claim him in return and cared for him.

And Mycroft wanted that someone to be Gregory Lestrade. And so he'd found himself searching the mansion for the man, going through the rooms until he saw a shadow of a man against the wall through an upstairs window.

He'd run down the stairs only to freeze when he saw the slumped figure of the man he loved. In that moment Mycroft was so sorry for all the pain he'd caused, his own hesitation and obstinate behaviour had caused this and it was his responsibility to right it, to fix it; even if it meant giving up the detective, he'd do it to ensure his happiness.

And so he stood there, possible lines running through his head, none of them sounding right, none of them held any conviction. Until the silence was too much, and the pain radiating from Lestrade had washed all sense of reason from Mycroft so that he was blundering in, all unadulterated emotion and unrehearsed words.

"Gregory?" the words were soft, cautionary; full of pleading and a myriad of emotions.

Even so when Lestrade tilted his head to the side, in the evil possessed way only seen in horror movies, he was glaring, mouth set in a thin line. "Who gave you the right to call me Gregory?" the words were snarled, Lestrade pushing all his pain and anguish into.

"How dare you, you-" the phrase was harsh and said with true anger and so Mycroft was confused when Lestrade stopped yelling mid sentence. He could see him staring up at him, a mixture of curiosity, wondering, loathing, shock, and so many more flitting across his face.

And then Mycroft felt it, the cool wet slide of a single tear as it tracked its way down he's left cheek. And with one tear the gates were opened, and Mycroft's eyes welled, the tears falling freely now, Mycroft not even trying to hide them or wipe them away.

And somehow through his tears and the chocking sobs in his throat he managed to gasp out a 'sorry', unable to stop he kept repeating himself like a broken record.

The fight had left Lestrade, watching the unflappable controlled Mycroft lose it and become a broken man like him didn't fill him with satisfaction as he'd thought it would. Quite the opposite in fact, Lestrade felt guilty, his stomach twisting into painful knots.

Mycroft had sunk to his knees, kneeling on the pavement, hand constantly moving from their place by his side to cover his face. Lestrade uncurled himself and shifted forward until his was even with Mycroft. Reaching out a hand tentatively Lestrade laid it on Mycroft shoulder, jerking him out of his jumbled mutterings of sorry. Lifting his tear stained gaze to Lestrade's Mycroft allowed himself a twinge of hope, because in that moment they were connected by one hand on a shoulder and their eyes. It's said the eyes are the windows to the soul and Gregory believed it, Mycroft had believed it on a purely scientifically level, thinking of it as merely a way to determine truth form lie. Now however he could see the spiritual side, the emotional connection of the meeting of eyes. Because in Lestrade's eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide or deny it, Mycroft could see his pain but above that he could see his love, could see the affectionate and caring way that Lestrade held him. What's more he could see the recognition in Lestrade's eyes, see the moment he realised that Mycroft loved him, deeply and for all eternity.

Nevertheless Mycroft restrained himself, not wishing to scare off Gregory just yet he held back, waiting for Lestrade to take the lead. But no matter his level of control Mycroft couldn't quell the need to take in his fill of Lestrade; to see the way he'd lost weight, the way he could still look delectable in his eveningwear, and the way that his lips were still so kissable his body still desirable. And god help Mycroft because everything about Gregory Lestrade seemed made to tempt him but he couldn't partake of him, not without Lestrade's permission and consent. And Mycroft would wait, he would wait until Gregory was ready, whether that be for a kiss, a date, sex, or moving in together. Mycroft would wait because he wanted Lestrade to be above all else happy. He only hoped that making Gregory Lestrade happy didn't include him exiting his life.

Lestrade's hand was still resting on Mycroft shoulder, lightly giving comfort. Gregory watched the play of emotion in Mycroft's eyes, seeing the hope and love as well as the doubt and fear he held. Lightening his hold on Mycroft's shoulder he gently brushed his hand up Mycroft neck. He lifted his hand higher, caressing Mycroft's cheek, knuckles brushing against the tear tracks, smearing the remnants of Mycroft's tears. Uncurling his fingers Lestrade laid his palm flat against Mycroft cheek, taking in the sight of the man before him.

Mycroft for his part, was entranced, Gregory was showing him more kindness than he'd expected. Overwhelmed he closed his eyes when he felt Gregory's hand against his cheek, savouring the feeling of skin on skin contact. Lost in feeling he vaguely registered Gregory's hand moving from his cheek, fingers carding through his hair, curling tenderly and tugging him forward. Eyes popping open Mycroft found himself nose to nose with Gregory; the shock quickly wore off leaving Mycroft pleasantly happy, floating on cloud nine.

Smiling at the glazed look Mycroft was sporting Gregory leant in and kissed his lips. Time seemed to slow, the world disappearing until only Mycroft and Gregory were left. The beat of their hearts, the harsh sounds of their breathing, the sound of lips meeting, joined the sounds of the night and party. Lost in their moment, the press of lips and the rediscovery of long ago charted territory, they didn't hear anyone approaching.

Then again they weren't alone in not noticing. 'Anthea' had her head down, gaze burning into her Blackberry, it wasn't until she almost tripped on the couple that the parties noticed each other. Lips breaking apart but not detangling themselves, Gregory and Mycroft gazed up at Anthea in question. Astounded, Anthea stood there staring. Mycroft raised his eyebrow at his assistant, and when that didn't work the couple shared a look before standing. Their movement bought Anthea out of her trance, "Sorry, sir. What was that?"

Mycroft smiled, shocking the poor girl further, "Nothing at all, my dear. Please continue. Gregory and I will just be going back inside now"

Nodding jerkily Anthea watched the two men leave, eyes trained on them until they disappeared from sight.

As they walked away from 'Anthea', Mycroft and Gregory found themselves clinging to and leaning on each other, looking much like a pair of school girls giggling away at nothing.

They only made it through one corridor before Gregory pulled them aside. In the darken silence strands of music could be heard echoing down the corridor. Backing Mycroft back against the wall, Gregory leant against him, listening to his breathing. Mycroft smiled at the man in his arms, reaching a hand up he stroked his loves back before running his hand through his hair.

"I don't want to go back just yet" Gregory whispered, voicing the thoughts of both men.

"Then we wont" Mycroft answered leaning down to kiss the top of Lestrade's head.

The two men stayed there, locked in a loving embrace. The night's events had been full of revelations and in their moment of peace Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes took their time coming to terms with the new developments. In each others arms they rejoiced that their time apart was now over, and absorbed the knowledge that most of their differences were worked out.

Taking comfort from the strong arms surrounding his, Mycroft found that even though he'd watched Gregory from afar having him physically with him only strengthened the attraction, desire and affection he'd held for the man over the course of their acquaintance.

The silence was broken by Gregory's soft question, mumbled against Mycroft's shoulder as if it was merely a thought spoken aloud. "Mycroft? What are we?"

Glancing at the DI from the corner of his eye Mycroft saw the vulnerability of the toughened man before him. He saw the tender man, the one who had been hurt and was now beginning to heal.

"We can be whatever you want us to be" he answered, tightening his hold around Gregory. There wasn't a reply after that and so they lapsed back into silence.

Mycroft wondered if he'd said something wrong. He glanced back at Gregory, gauging his present emotional state. He seemed content but sad. Mycroft sighed softly before sucking in a deep breath, "I would very much like us to be boyfriends. And maybe someday when we're ready we could be more"

Gregory looked up in shock, "More?" he's voice was filled with wonder and confusion.

"Yes. I'd like to be your husband. If you'll have me" Mycroft noticed the flash of fear in Lestrade's eyes, "But only when you're ready, only ever if you're ready" he stated, his voice firm and filled with conviction. "We could be boyfriends first, if you'd like"

Gregory looked down, trying to hide his blush. "I'd like that" he answered before kissing Mycroft firm on the mouth. "I'd like that very much"

**OoOoOoO**

**End A/N:** I don't think I made to many mistakes, if I did I'm terribly sorry. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it. I'm thinking of doing a Christmas Mystrade, a follow on of this if you will.

Also I'm not British so if I made any errors on that front I'm once again terribly sorry. I'm Australian and though we're a bit like the Brit's we're not the same. I think that's all so good bye.


End file.
